


The Soulmark games

by CMarieBohley_Author



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Arena, Blood, Bohley, Bonding, Carynn - Freeform, Cool, Cute, Darkness, Epic, F/M, Falling In Love, Fighting, Fights, Games, Hatred, Hunger Games, Long, Love, Mark - Freeform, Panem, Romance, Sad, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sweet, Teenagers, chapters, everdeen, everlark, heffie, katniss - Freeform, life - Freeform, soul, soulmark, soulmate, twist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMarieBohley_Author/pseuds/CMarieBohley_Author
Summary: A soul mark is a tattoo-like birthmark found on one's wrist. Like fingerprints, these marks are completely unique- with one exception. One other person is born with an identical mark, and that person is the one who completes you.In an ideal world, everyone would find their soulmate.But Panem is not an ideal world.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Peeta Mellark has waited all his life to find his soulmate. Now his dreams come true- under extreme circumstances that leave him wondering if she would be better off without him...- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Katniss Everdeen has never thought much about the colorful mark on her wrist. But when she meets Peeta, she begins to wonder if love is worth the possibility of loss, after all...





	1. An Ideal World- Peeta

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader!  
> Just a quick note before you get into the story.  
> This is a rewrite of a fanfiction I made a few years ago. Looking back on it now shows me how far I've come with my writing (I think it was awful, but it has over 3,000 hits... so I'm kind of confused). I know that I can do better, so I thought I'd give it another go and- as I said- write it better.  
> Enjoy!

Chapter One

Peeta

 

     

I’ll admit it, I’ve spent more than a fair amount of time daydreaming about meeting my soulmate. Its actual happening would be a rarity, what with the strict separation of people within each of the twelve districts, but I’ve always been one to get my hopes up. I’m not sure where I got my enthusiasm; my Mother’s about as motherly as barbed wire, and my Father isn’t one to share his emotions. According to my usually-gloomy brothers, the trait is entirely my own.

Maybe it’s bad to spend so much time pondering the highly unlikely occasion of actually meeting my soulmate. The one who shares the special mark that colors my wrist, completely different than every other person’s.

According to statistics, I have little to no chance of ever meeting her. And even if I did, President Snow’s new law requiring everyone who bears a soul mark to keep them hidden would make it impossible. My Father thinks that the law is meant to keep people separated; he says that love is too strong a motive to keep people from rebelling, and Snow is threatened by that.

It’s completely unfair, of course, but this is Panem. Fair isn’t exactly part of the equation.

In an ideal world, the citizens of Panem would be free to roam anywhere they pleased. They wouldn’t need to wear clothing that covered their wrists from the eyes of those whose marks were identical. President Snow wouldn’t hold a position of power.

In an ideal world, there would be no such thing as the _Hunger Games._

It didn’t take long for me to realize that our world is not ideal; the reality of our life struck when I was only three or four. Now, at sixteen, I’ve accepted it. I know that there’s no point in rebellion, even a silent one.

I don’t mean that I agree with the way things are, just that I understand that it _is_ how things are. So I’ve planned my life accordingly.

One thing I have not accepted is that my soulmate won’t be a part of it.

My train of thought ends abruptly and a wave of panic takes its place. This is how it goes all morning; I make myself forget, and then the thought pushes itself back into my head: Today is Reaping Day.

And I could be next.

True, my family is fairly wealthy compared to many in twelve, so I’ve never needed to take tesserae. But the games are never fair, and while the odds have been in my favor up until now, they might not remain that way.

I focus on slowing my quickly accelerating heart rate in hopes of pushing the fear from my mind. Unfortunately, it tends to stick around once I let it back in.

“You should eat something,” Father says quietly from the other side of the room.

I nearly forgot that I wasn’t alone, having been secluded in my thoughts. It happens a lot, I guess.

“I’m not sure I can,” I admit.

Father looks up from the ball of dough he’s kneading, his eyebrows knit together and his mouth set in a grim line. “Peeta, you won’t be reaped. Not today. Not ever.” He says it with such assurance, such _finality_ in his tone that I don’t argue. For a moment I wonder if he was talking to me at all, and not himself.

I put up a hand and the lines of tension disappear from Father’s forehead. He lifts a roll from the counter beside him and tosses it to me, and I catch it in one hand. “Thanks.”

The bell rings out as a customer enters, and I turn to meet him. I recognize him immediately; Gale Hawthorne. He’s two grades above me, I think, in my older brother Ficelle’s year. He’s tall and lean, with dark hair and deep-set gray eyes like those of nearly everyone who lives at the Seam.

I haven’t actually spoken to Gale- at least, not really. I’m not sure that quibbles over bread prices count.

Gale raises a squirrel by the tail, and my eyes immediately land on the puncture in its side made by the arrow. It brings a memory to mind, one that isn’t so much different than the current moment. There were only two large distinctions between the two events. One, the squirrel being held up had been shot straight through the eye. And two, the animal hung from a different hand.

I don’t know why my thoughts lead back to Katniss Everdeen. I know almost nothing about her; just that her Father died in a mine accident five years ago, she’s my age, she’s quiet, and she’s an amazing shot. Cut amazing, Katniss could hit a moving target straight through the middle from two hundred yards away. Blindfolded.

Gale coughs a deep, throaty cough, like the kind someone does when they’re waiting for you to say or do something but are too polite to tell you.

I laugh embarrassedly. “Sorry, just zoned out a bit.”

Gale’s face softens. “I know. A lot to think about today, huh?”

I grimace. I’d nearly forgotten.

“How are you doing today, Mr. Hawthorne?” Father calls pleasantly from behind the counter. Gale gives me a polite smile before walking past me to speak with Father. In all truthfulness, I’m relieved. It’s hard to look at someone who’s far more likely to be chosen at the Reaping than I am without feeling guilty.  

I hurry from the room and nearly slam into my mother as she rounds the corner, an armful of ingredients in her arms. One thing I’ve learned about her over the past sixteen years is that, unlikely practically every other adult in twelve, she doesn’t sympathize even on Reaping Day.

“Get control of yourself,” she snaps, and the load she carries keeps her from slapping me on the back of the head.

“Sorry,” I mumble, before stumbling gracefully to mine and my brothers’ room to get changed into fresh clothing.

After all, it’s good to look your best when you’re heading straight toward your possible death sentence.


	2. Forbidden Thoughts- Katniss

Chapter Two

Katniss

There aren’t words to describe the level of fear that tightens in my stomach each time I think about what I’m getting ready for. While I bathe, while I dress, while my mother puts pins in my hair to hold up the fancy up-do I’d never wear on a normal day.

I long for the forest. For the thick clusters of leaves that form a canopy above me; a barricade from the open sky that threatens to spit a hovercraft armed with peacekeepers from thin air. It’s the only place I feel truly safe, the only place where I can forget how afraid I am and just… live.

            I think back to this morning, trying to remember the feeling of bark beneath my fingers and the cool breeze in my hair. The light that had begun to spill across the sky filtered through the leaves, scattering golden spots across the forest floor.

            Gale’s words from just an hour ago come back to me, whispering in my head and filling it with forbidden thoughts.

            “ _We could do it, you know.”_

To which I had replied, “ _Do what?”_

_"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.”_

I knew I couldn’t, but now the idea gave me a buzzing feeling in my stomach. A feeling that murmured ‘what if?’

Maybe he was right. Maybe we _could_ make it. But Gale knows I could never leave Prim.

This thought leads to another so quickly that I don’t sense the change until I’ve already thought the forbidden thought.

 _If Prim wasn’t here, would I go with Gale? And if I did… would things always be the way they are now? Or would it… would_ we… _be different? Could I think of Gale the way he seems to think of me?_

I shake the thoughts away, and they’re gone as quickly as they arrived.

            They’re dangerous thoughts. They’re the vulnerable, uncontrollable thoughts that, once allowed to enter my head, will run free and make me do something stupid.

            No, I need to focus. Focus on getting on my shoes.

            _That’s it, Katniss. Slide your foot in. Left foot, right foot. Easy, see?_

But it’s not easy. Because on Reaping Day, your mind plays cruel games. It tells you that it’ll be your name pulled from the Reaping bowl. That you should have escaped when you had the chance.

            How many times will my thoughts return to this?

            _Think about something else, Katniss. Anything else._

But what is there to think about? There’s nothing in my life worth celebrating. Nothing except…

            “You look beautiful, Katniss,” my little sister Prim whispers.

            I turn to meet her blue eyes, clear as a cloudless sky. I’ve always envied her eyes, which is odd for me, as I don’t care much for looks in general.

            “Oh, Prim,” I laugh, and tuck a loose stand of blonde hair behind her ear. “ _You_ look beautiful. But… I think you’re forgetting something.”

            She gasps, and her hand flies to her wrist. A moment later she’s speeding from the room to find her wrist cover, and I stand in the entryway trying not to laugh.

            I’ve always found the soul mark cover law to be a silly one, but needing to hide the mark from your own family is just preposterous. What’s the point?

            Prim and I are pretty casual about our soul marks around the house. We don’t say anything about them, but we also don’t keep them covered unless we’re going out. I haven’t seen Mother without her wrist cover since I was eleven.

            Since the day my Father was killed in a mine accident.

            The only person outside of my family who’s seen my soul mark is Gale. It was nearly a year ago; in the forest, of course.

            “I was thinking something,” Gale had announced.

            I laughed. “Aren’t you always?”

            Gale smirked. “You’re funny. Anyway, I was thinking that we’re breaking enough rules as it is. So…” He reached to his wrist to pull off his wrist cover, and I was too surprised to stop him. The tie came loose and the fabric fell away, revealing the most beautiful image I’d ever seen.

            It was an eye. An almond eye, with dilated pupils and long, curled eyelashes. In the darkness of the pupil were beads of white that seemed to glimmer as I stared at it. What made it so spectacular, though, was the fact that the eye was not made up of lines. No, it was weaved entirely of vines, snaking around the whole perimeter of the mark.

            But it was not mine.

            Gale watched my face intently, waiting for the reaction I was not meant to give. I finally met his eyes, and he saw something in mine that made his smile fall away.

            Almost inaudibly, he murmured, “Can I see it?”

            Mechanically, my fingers found the thin laces that tied the fabric on my wrist guard together, and I pulled it loose. Though I knew that Gale’s soul mark had a match that was not on my own wrist, something about the whole exchange felt so… intimate. Sacred, yet twisted and wrong.

            Despite the strange feeling that had taken control of my stomach, I let the fabric fall away and held up my wrist.

            Gale’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and as he took in the mark he didn’t meet my eyes. I soon found myself gazing at my wrist too, as if seeing it in a whole new way.

            It was a wooden arrow with a soft, feathery tip, pointed at a colorful target that looked almost like splatters of paint. Looking at it then, exposed to the eyes of someone outside of my family, was the first time that I considered it: Somewhere, someone else was looking down at the same mark. Maybe they were wondering where I was, too.

            Gale hasn’t mentioned what happened since, which scares me sometimes. It makes the whole thing seem far worse than it probably was. I mean, yeah, we were breaking the law… but we do that every time we leave twelve’s borders and hunt, anyway.

            Prim returns with her wrist cover, and I catch a glimpse of the red cross symbol that decorates her skin before she slides the fabric over it. “There,” she says once it’s tied.

            “You’re forgetting something else, little duck,” I tease.

            Prim giggles and reaches back to tuck her blouse under her skirt. “Okay, how about now?”

            I pretend to study her from head to toe, and she spins in a circle so I can see. Finally I put my hands on my hips and say, “Just my hug.”

            Prim grins and reaches for me, and I pull her into my arms. “I love you, little duck,” I whisper against her hair.

            “I love you too, Katniss.” Her voice cracks, and I know what she’s thinking.

            I hold her closer. “Prim, there’s nothing to worry about. You’re only twelve! Your name has only gone in _once._ Your name is one in thousands, Prim. They won’t choose you.”

            “You don’t know that,” she murmurs, doubt rich in her tone.

            “I do,” I say firmly. “You won’t be chosen, Prim. I _promise_.”


	3. The Reaping- Peeta

Chapter Three

Peeta

     

The walk to the Hall of Justice is solemn. No one speaks; there’s a dead silence even when we reach the center of town, which is slowly filling up with people. My brothers and I leave my parents and join the line of twelve through eighteen year olds. Gradually the line ahead of me shortens, and finally I’m standing before the makeshift desk where a Capitol worker sits. She puts out a hand, and I let her take my finger to prick and press down on a sheet of paper printed with names and little boxes for blood.

After that’s over, all I can do is join the other sixteen-year-olds and wait. At this point it’s impossible to control the dangerously fast beating of my heart, so I don’t bother. My fingers tremble at my sides, so I ball them into fists and dig my fingernails into my skin. I clench my jaw and cross my arms over my chest, stiff and frozen in place. I don’t move a muscle, because I’m afraid that if I do I’ll run screaming for the hills.

Somehow, I feel more terrified every time. It’s strange, because I can think more logically now than I could four years ago. Now I understand the rarity of me actually being chosen. Still, it’s impossible to be calm when you’re fully aware of what’s going on.

A low hum that began a few minutes ago becomes a buzz; the more people that arrive, the more nervous whispers reverberate through the Hall of Justice.

It’s funny that it’s called the Hall of Justice. It’s not like there’s anything just about what’s going on, or anything in Panem.

Effie Trinket is a strange little woman- who from the Capitol isn’t?- with bright, poufy hair and an eccentric personality. She is the escort for District twelve, and though she acts bubbly and excited about the whole thing, I do believe that she’d prefer to work in a different district- _any_ other district.

She hops up onto the stage now, and taps the microphone to get everyone’s attention. As if she doesn’t already have it.

“Hello!” she says in that inhumanly high voice, thick with the accent Capitol citizens are known for. “Happy _Hunger_ _Games_!” She scans the crowd, too-wide smile spread across her face. “And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Then she goes on with a speech I learned to tune out years ago, about the war and the destruction of the world that lead to the one we know today. About the Treaty of Treason, which declares that, to stop another uprising from nearly wiping out the human race, each district will offer up two tributes, a male and a female, to fight to the death in an arena.

Finally Effie Trinket takes in a deep breath, smile faltering. “Well. Isn’t this just… spectacular?” She looks just as tired with the fanaticism as the rest of us, though she tries to hide it. “Now, time to choose this year’s tributes. Of course, ladies first!”

She struts across the stage and stops at the deep, glass bowl that holds the names of every eligible girl in twelve. She reaches one gloved hand in and pulls out a slip of paper, and I find myself grinding my teeth again.

She returns to the microphone and unfolds the paper. “The female tribute for District twelve is…”


	4. Volunteer- Katniss

Chapter Four

Katniss

      All of twelve is silent as we wait for the name to be read. The name that belongs to some person here, someone who will undergo the horrible, terrifying, completely sadistic event that we can’t control- and are likely to be killed by.

            The only living victor from twelve is Haymitch Abernathy, and he’s so slobbering drunk that he probably doesn’t remember his own name. I’ve never spoken to him, but I’m sure if I did it would be both entertaining and disturbing.

            If it isn’t clear, the Hunger Games is something that ruins your life, whether you get out alive or not.

            Effie speaks. “Primrose Everdeen!”

            It’s as if her mouth moves, but the sound that comes out is impossible to translate. Primrose Everdeen? That’s not right. I can’t seem to make sense of the words.

            Silence ensues, so she repeats, “Primrose Everdeen?”

            My eyes fall on Prim making her way hesitantly toward the stage, and that’s when my body comes to life again.

            “No,” I gasp, but it catches in my throat. I push my way through the other sixteen-year-olds, and the crowd parts for me. “No!” This time my voice rings out through the air, the only sound in The Hall of Justice.

            Peacekeepers march forward to pull me back, and Prim turns to look at me, eyes bulging with fear. I struggle away from the soldiers, but their grips only tighten. I search my mind for something- _anything_ \- that can fix this.

            Before I can consider it, I’m shrieking, “I volunteer!” A murmur ripples through the congregation, and the peacekeepers’ grips loosen as they make sense of what I’m saying. I take a deep breath and say it again. “I volunteer as tribute.”


	5. Tribute- Peeta

Chapter Five

Peeta

 

            My heart stutters as I register what’s going on. I don't realize how involved I’ve become with her until I see her walking up the stairs to the podium, then stepping up onto the stage. She makes her way to where Effie Trinket stands, her expression careful. Like she’s trying not to cry.

            Her little sister- _Primrose_ , I remember- is still screaming. Gale Hawthorne is trying to calm her down and get her to Mrs. Everdeen without causing too much of a scene. I avert my eyes and look back to Katniss, who stands with her arms clasped in front of her and her head down.

            Effie is beaming. “Well! What a … _brave_ girl! What’s your name, dear?”

            Katniss’ lips barely move as she mumbles, “Katniss Everdeen.”

            Effie’s smile grows impossibly wider. “I bet my hat that was your sister!”

            Katniss’ eyes wander hesitantly to find Primrose in the crowd. “…Yes.”

            “Well, everyone please have a round of applause for District Twelve’s first volunteer!” Effie claps her hands together, but no one joins in.

            A ripple goes through the crowd, and I look around in order to understand the change. Slowly, one after another, the citizens of twelve touch their three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips, then lift them toward Katniss.

            I join in with the others, taking part in the silent, solemn salute we all know to mean ‘goodbye.’ An ache has begun to grow from my heart, spreading across my whole body inch by inch.

_Why did it have to be Katniss?_

            “Now,” Effie says hurriedly, her eyes round with confusion as she takes in the sudden change in the crowd. “It’s time to choose the boy tribute.”

            She crosses the stage to the other bowl and stoops down to take a slip. When she returns to the microphone, she has already opened the paper and is peering down at the name.

            “The male tribute for District Twelve is… _Peeta Mellark_.”

            I’m frozen. I can’t move. I can’t think.

            The people closest to me stare, expressions grave. They part for me before I can understand why.

            “Well come on up,” Effie calls, and my feet start moving before I command them to.

            I walk through the crowd, up the stairs, and across the stage to where Effie and Katniss stand. Katniss is watching me openly, her mouth set in a grim line but her gray eyes curious.

            “Wonderful!” Effie sings. “Shake hands!”

            My eyes don’t leave Katniss’ as I take her hand. I’m vaguely aware that it fits perfectly in mine, before Effie is continuing in that chipper voice, saying, “Here are your tributes for the 74th Hunger Games!”

            A moment later, we’re ushered apart and brought to separate rooms to meet with our families and friends for what is probably the final goodbye.


	6. The Final Goodbye- Katniss

Chapter Six

Katniss

 

I can’t help but imagine the worst and most likely scenario as I wait for my visitors to come and bid me farewell.

            This will be the final goodbye.

            This will be the last time I see any of them.

            This will be the last time I look down into my little sister’s innocent blue eyes.

            Despite all of this, I don’t cry. It’s not that I don’t let myself, though I’m sure that’s part of it. I’m just… numb. Like I haven’t quite grasped the reality of my current situation.

            This is how I felt when my Father was killed in the mine accident five years ago. Empty. Stripped of life completely.

            Already dead.

            When the door opens the first time, I’m surprised to meet the eyes of Peeta Mellark’s father, the baker. I’ve only spoken with him a few times, during trades or when he was paying his respects to my family after Father’s death.

            So why does he stand there now by the door, clutching a brown paper bag in one hand and looking at me with eyes full of despair?

            He makes his way hesitantly across the room and sits in the chair I decided not to sit in. I prefer to stand; I only sit when I’m at ease, in a comfortable environment where I know I’m safe.

            Not when I’m awaiting my train to the Capitol.

            We watch each other for a moment, neither sure of what to say. He’s a lot like me, I suppose; he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

I’ve always found silence to be comfortable. It doesn’t hold the pressure of civil conversation.

Finally he lets out a small cough, and holds out the bag. “For you.”

I take it from him mechanically, and when I peer inside my heart skips a beat. The cookies that were always on display at the bakery with colorful frosting, the ones that my family could never afford.

I look up at Mr. Mellark and whisper, “Thank you.” A shiver runs through me and suddenly I’m trembling uncontrollably, and though I clench my teeth I can’t seem to make it stop.

Mr. Mellark doesn’t smile and tell me that everything will be okay, and I’m grateful. He just stands and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed.

A peacekeeper opens the door, and I know that our time is up.

Mr. Mellark turns and starts toward the exit, before stopping in his tracks and looking back at me. “I’ll make sure that the girl eats,” he promises.

Now I do feel like I might cry. I bite down on my lip and swallow hard, before whispering again, “Thank you.”

            He gives me a final glance, before turning his back to me and leaving the room. The door shuts, and I’m alone again.  

            Waiting has always been hard for me. It’s not that I’m impatient, exactly. I just get antsy when I have to stand still for a while, or when I can’t do anything to make a situation better.

            It doesn’t help much, but I pace to pass the time.

            The door opens slowly, and once again I’m expecting my mother and Prim.

            But it’s not.

            Madge Undersee, a sort of friend of mine, steps into the room and shuts the door quietly behind her. Her face is paper white, and she wrings her hands together in a way that looks painful.

            “Katniss,” she mumbles, her eyes glued to mine. She’s waiting for me to cry, I guess. She steps closer and gives me a hug, and I suddenly feel numb again.

            When she releases me she studies my face. “You can win, Katniss, I know you can.”

            I give her a weak smile. “Maybe.”

            Madge’s frown deepens impossibly. “It’s just… it isn’t fair.”

            I open my mouth to reply, but decide against it. Anything I would have said would have sounded harsh.

            “Maybe I can help,” Madge continues, and before I can tell her that that’s not possible, she reaches down to the golden pin she wears on her dress and removes it from the fabric. She holds it out. “Will you wear this during the games, Katniss? As your token from your district?”

            My mouth falls open. “Madge…”

            “Please,” she insists, pushing it into my palm. “It’s brought me luck. I can only hope that it’ll help you, as well.”

            I look down at the pin, my heart pounding. It’s a golden ring around a bird with its wings stretched out on either side.

A mockingjay, I remember. They originated from a Capitol-created bird, a jabberjay, from the war intended to spy on their enemies and report back to them. If I recall correctly, the rebels used the birds against them and the Capitol was forced to release them into the wild so they’d die off. But they didn’t. Instead, they mated with wild mockingbirds, creating a new species.

I love the pin. It has an almost… rebellious feel to it.

I embrace Madge again. “Thank you, Madge. I’ll wear it.”

The peacekeeper opens the door, announcing that our time is up.

“Good luck, Katniss,” Madge whispers, her voice thick with panic.

I nod, and she disappears out the door.

The next time it opens, I meet Prim’s eyes and choke back a sob. I thought I could handle this. I thought I was strong enough.

Maybe I can face the games, but how can I face my little sister? She’s already lost my father. Mentally, she’s lost my mother. How can I leave her, too?

She throws her arms around my waist and I hold her tight against me, squeezing my eyes shut so the tears won’t leak. My mother hovers a few feet behind Prim, her hands clasped in front of her.

“You’ll try to win, won’t you?” Prim sobs.

I let out a shaky breath. “Of course I will.”

“You’re strong,” Prim continues hopefully. “And you’re a hunter. Maybe the others won’t know how to hunt.”

I pull her closer. “Exactly. Don’t worry about me, Prim. Or anything. Gale will bring you and mother food, and the baker will bring you food, as well.”

“I’m not worried about us,” Prim whispers. “And how can I not be worried about you?” She bursts into another round of tears, and I rock back and forth with her in my arms.

“Sh… Prim. Listen to me. Everything will be okay.”

Prim pulls away and looks up at my eyes intently. “As long as you promise to worry about yourself and not us. Worry about staying alive. I just know that you can win.”

“Maybe I can,” I agree.

“Promise!” Prim insists.

“I promise.”

Prim backs away slowly, her eyes trained on me as if I might disappear, and mother takes her place. I force myself to hug her, to forget about her neglect, to say a fair goodbye.

But I can’t risk her leaving again.

I hold her shoulders and make sure she’s focusing on me before I begin. “You need to take care of her now,” I say in a low voice. “You can’t disappear like before. I don’t care how you feel, or what you think… you need to be here.”

She nods slowly, her eyes wide.

I sigh and hug her again. “I love you.”

She stifles a sob. “I love you too, Katniss.”

The next thing I know the door’s opening, and a peacekeeper is pulling us apart. Prim starts screaming and rushes forward to lock her arms around me. The next few moments are a blur, just the peacekeepers tearing the three of us away from each other and the echoing screams around me as Prim struggles to reach me.

Then, once again, I’m alone.

The next and last visitor I receive is the most welcome.

Gale’s eyes are solemn, but he’s holding himself together. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do the same for much longer.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just puts his arms around me and lets me take refuge in the scent of pine and coal that he always wears.

“You’ll bring them game?” I murmur.

“Of course I will,” He says sharply, and when he pulls back I see the frustration in his eyes. “Don’t even worry about that. You need to focus on staying alive for as long as possible. If you do that, you can win. I know it.”

“There are twenty-three of them,” I say doubtfully. “And most of them will be bigger and stronger than me. And tributes from the career districts have trained for this stuff-”

“But you’re amazing with the bow,” Gale interrupts. “Better than anyone.”

“There might not be a bow,” I point out.

“There will be. If you show the peacekeepers what you can do, they’ll have one. They just want a show, Katniss. That’s all it is. You just have to play the game. It’s no different than hunting.”

“Yes it is,” I say under my breath, and Gale doesn’t respond.

He stands there staring at me, as if memorizing every detail so he’ll have something to remember me by. It’s the worst thing he can do. It’s goodbye.

I feel panic rising in me now, and I have to force myself to take even breaths instead of hyperventilating.

Gale’s jaw clenches, and he pulls me into his arms again. He puts a hand on the back of my head and runs it down my hair, his breaths coming almost as quickly as mine. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

The door swings open, and a peacekeeper marches in.

“Time’s up,” he orders.

“Just a second,” Gale growls, his arms tightening around me.

“Gale,” I mumble.

He’s ripped away from me then, and the peacekeeper is practically dragging him from the room.

“Katniss!” Gale calls. “Even if we aren’t-”

The door slams closed, and his words are cut off.

A minute later, the peacekeeper returns. “It’s time to go.”


	7. Three farewells- Peeta

Chapter Seven

Peeta

 

 

In all of my life, I'm sure I've never felt this alone.

I sit in the chair provided in the little room the peacekeepers brought me to, waiting for my family to pay me one last visit. After all, there's no chance that I'll ever see them again after today. Though I try to stay optimistic, it's quite obvious that the competition will be too much for me. I've seen how aggressive tributes can get, especially careers. How am I supposed to compete with that?

It's several minutes before the door swings open and my father enters with Ficelle and Kifli. I get to my feet and stand motionless, not sure what to say. 

Kifli is first to speak. "I'm sorry I didn't volunteer for you." He won't meet my eyes, and instead stares at the wall. "I just couldn't do it, you know?"

I nod, afraid that if I speak I won't be able to hold back my tears.

"You've got a fair chance," Ficelle offers. 

Father steps forward and embraces me without saying a word, and a sob catches in my throat. I swallow it and hug him back, and then Kifli and Ficelle in turn. 

"Mother?" I whisper hesitantly, and Ficelle shakes his head.

Father's eyes darken, and I have a feeling that there will be arguments tonight.

I pang of grief stabs my heart as I realize; once they go back home, my family will mourn for me. They will shutter the windows, and close the bakery until the time of mourning has ended. At that point, perhaps I'll already be dead.

The peacekeeper opens the door and says that out time is up, and I say my final goodbye to my family. They disappear and the door shuts, and I'm left with only my miserable thoughts.

I have no more visitors.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who's been reading since I first started posting this:  
> I'm so sorry for the wait! I haven't been on AO3 for months, because I just started online college and I've been really busy. This semester ends next month, so I'll have more time to write. Also, Thanksgiving break is coming up so I'll have free time then too! In the meantime, I'll write as much as I can. Thanks for your comments and kudos, they're extremely motivating! You guys are awesome :)


	8. The Train- Katniss

Chapter Eight

Katniss

 

 

Peeta and I are escorted to the destination of the Capitol's train, which looks far more modern than the run-down station around it. I climb up first, letting my hand brush the smooth railing that leads up into the first room. 

And by room, I mean  _room._

The first car itself might be bigger than my house. The high ceilings and symmetrical windows give it a clean, modern look, with tables built into the walls as well as chairs and types of furniture I've never even seen before.

I turn around to glance back at Peeta, who seems to be as shocked by the train's quality as I am. He meets my eyes, and we exchange a knowing look.

Effie shuffles past me and turns to face the two of us, beaming. "As you can see, the Capitol is all about class! Lucky for you, you'll be living in style for the next five days. Rich foods, exquisite decor, new clothing..." she wrinkles her nose and looks at us as if for the first time. "Proper showers."

My stomach clenches in anger at this woman's ignorance. I'm sure she's never missed a meal in her life. She probably has hot water to bathe in whenever she feels like it. And here she is, judging us for what we don't have the privilege to afford.

"Anyhow, I'm off to find Haymitch," Effie continues cheerfully. She then adds under her breath, "Though I doubt he'll be sober enough to be of much help." She hurries through the door opposite us, and I feel as if all of my energy has left me at once. 

I collapse into one of the chairs and look out the window, and I absently notice Peeta do the same. 

We sit in silence, and I can't help letting my mind wander back to that day so long ago, when Peeta Mellark saved my life. 

Before I can relive the memory, the door swings open and the two of us look up to see our mentor. 

 


End file.
